


discourse in intercourse

by aosc



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Single Parent Regis, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 17:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14857451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aosc/pseuds/aosc
Summary: Regis cannot quite contain his sigh. “Very well,” he says, “I suppose this is the proverbial trial that every parent must partake in – and overcome. Ignis, while your acting has been commendable thus far, this is one task I will not ask of you to handle in my stead. Please, you may go.”





	discourse in intercourse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



* * *

  
There’s a gentle clearing of throat, and the short rap of knuckles against the far door that Regis instantly recognizes as Clarus’s. He acquiesces without looking up from the proposal before him, crooking a finger and saying, “Please, Clarus.”

 

He attempts for inviting, non-distracted, but is never quite sure of whether he succeeds. At any rate, Clarus has never deemed it necessary to call him on it. Regis hopes he may decide to continue to humor him for however long they’ll have together.

 

“Your Majesty,” says Clarus.

 

“Quite,” replies Regis, “Is it urgent?”

 

Hesitation. Unbecoming of the man as it is, it does serve to catch his attention. Regis pulls his glasses off, and looks up. “Oh,” he says, surprised without meaning to, “This is certainly a surprise.”

 

Next to Clarus is Noctis. He’s scuffing the floor with the toe of his boot, his arms crossed. On his son’s far left is Ignis, who, despite a certain ill-masked stiffness in his expression, remains stoic.

 

“Your Majesty,” says Ignis, and bows deeply with all the might that becomes a thirteen year old.

 

Regis nods in return, and smiles. “Ignis. A pleasure.”

 

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesty,” says the boy.

 

Noctis scuffs his boot harder. He refuses to look up. Regis tilts his head. He glances to Clarus, who looks mildly discomforted, but who offers no quick explanation. “Noctis,” Regis says, then, questioning without necessarily being demanding. He knows it never does him any good to demand anything out of the boy.

 

Noctis clasps his arms harder across himself. “Dad,” he mutters, barely audible.

 

“I daresay this is quite unexpected,” says Regis. “I was under the impression that you’d not be available until evening, either of you.”

 

“They weren’t,” says Clarus. “However. An – incident, has taken place. If one could call it that. And while I commend Ignis for attempting to handle it, I fear there’s not quite an adequate replacement for – for you, Your Majesty. In this situation.”

 

Regis frowns. “I would never doubt what you say, Clarus. Vague and – odd, though it may sound.”

 

Clarus grimaces. “Yes, I must admit that while I directly have no part in this, incidentally, I must also claim responsibility. When you’re done here, might we speak about it?”

 

“Certainly,” Regis says, “I will see to that I find you once we’re – finished.”

 

Clarus nods. “Good,” he says, and haltingly adds, “Excellent. Good day, Your Majesty. Ignis. Your Highness.”

 

Ignis salutes him. “Good day, Mr. Amicitia.”

 

“Bye, Clarus,” mutters Noctis.

 

“Alright,” says Regis, once the door has been shut securely behind them. “I must say, I have no idea as to where this might be headed. Ignis, would you care to shed some light upon the situation?”

 

Ignis stands straighter, much in starch contrast to where Noctis slumps further into himself. Regis is able to spot his drawn scowl from all across the room. If he’s crass about it, he realizes there is nowhere his son quite gets his ill behavior as much as from himself.

 

“Your Majesty – “ Ignis starts. He peters off. And purses his lips.

 

“’Regis’ is perfectly acceptable,” Regis says kindly.

 

“Your Majesty,” Ignis says, in spite of, “I – “

 

“Ignis’s refusing to tell me ‘bout why Gladio’s in the news, but he’s not here.”

 

Ignis stiffens. He quickly pales. Regis looks to his son. Noctis has finally looked up. He meets Regis’s gaze squarely, slightly pinched with irritation.

 

“Ah,” says Regis. He looks between the children, “I see.”

 

“I’m not sure – “ says Ignis, valiant, despite it all, but unable to finish his sentence.

 

Regis cannot quite contain his sigh. “Very well,” he says, “I suppose this is the proverbial trial that every parent must partake in – and overcome. Ignis, while your acting has been nothing but commendable thus far, this is one task I will not ask of you to handle in my stead. Please, you may go.”

 

“Your Majesty – it’s not that I won’t – “ says Ignis.

 

Regis smiles. “Of course. Nonetheless. Noctis will be with you oncemore for your one o’clock, fret not.”

 

Ignis worries his lower lip for a moment. Then he nods, sharply, and bows, oncemore. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I will see His Highness then.”

 

Regis glances at his wrist for the time, just quickly, when Ignis exits the room.

 

It’s enough for his son, quick as a cat, to take note, and sigh exaggeratedly. “Do you even have time for this?” he says, all of eleven years old by measure, but perhaps twice as much by the oftentimes devastating phrases he throws at the most unexpected turns.

 

“Noctis,” Regis reprimands, though without much heart in it.

 

“’S true,” his son mutters. “Why’s this such a big deal anyway? Why isn’t Ignis telling me this? Or giving me a _book_ , or something. That’s what he usually does.”

 

“While you are right, son. There are certainly numerous literary works depicting this topic – it’s quite common a practice that it’s, passed down from parent to child.”

 

“Sounds weird,” says Noctis.

 

Regis agrees, though certainly not explicitly, so that his son hears. Instead, he beckons him closer.

 

Noctis trudges up to the desk and climbers into the seat opposing Regis. He sinks deep into its back, crossing his ankles and spreading his arms out across the armrests. “Comfortable?” Regis asks, attempting to hold onto the glint of charm it’s supposed to contain.

 

Noctis shrugs noncommittally.

 

“I suppose we should cut to the chase, as one says.”

 

“Where’s Gladio,” says Noctis, uninterested in talking around the subject in the way a child is.

 

“Gladiolus is at home, from what I have heard.”

 

“Don’t you know?”

 

“I have not been to the Amicitia residence as of yet for this particular incident, no. But that is where he is supposed to be, and I have full confidence that is where he is.”

 

“Why’s he there.”

 

“Well, the circumstances are still under investigation, I wouldn’t presume to know exactly, at this point, but – “ Regis pauses. He holds Noctis’s gaze, “And you must understand this, son: he is being punished not for the act itself, but for the carelessness with which he indulged in it. The difference is vital to know, and to understand.”

 

“Okay…” Noctis says. He’s lost most of the edge to his expression, instead looking pensive. “There’s a journalist saying he’s ‘made this girl pregnant’. There’s photos. I just don’t get it, and no one’s telling me about it.”

 

“There is a time and a place for all conversations,” Regis replies, “While this one is delicate, perhaps – well, it’s not an easy subject to breach.”

 

“What isn’t?” says Noctis.

 

Regis takes a quick breath, mentally readying himself for a subject he absolutely has not prepared himself for handling, despite the many hardships life has thrown as obstacles in his path. He supposes he understands why it’s so hushed, and not spoken of with children – no one is surely able to speak about it with children ably, without making a fool of oneself.

 

“ – dad?”

 

“I – apologies, son. Very well. What Gladiolus is being reprimanded for is engaging in sexual activities without using adequate protection, nor informing the appropriate people of its occurrence.”

 

Noctis blinks.

 

Regis steels himself, and continues, “At its essence, a sexual encounter – of this nature, at least – is a means of reproduction. To create another human being, one must, traditionally, be sexually active.”

 

“Oh,” says Noctis, “So, like, a baby?”

 

“Depending on how you view it, the best, or the worst outcome is indeed a child, yes.”

 

“It’s – “ Noctis pauses, and scrunches his nose up. “How does that work…”

 

Regis strokes a thumb over his temple. A phantom ache ghosts through, up and gone as though it were never there. _So much for a quiet, convincing escape_ , he thinks, before berating himself for being a weak father.

 

“Well, I could certainly tell you, son. However, I doubt you’ll have much use of the information without, if not a demonstration, at least visual aid. Which is something I cannot provide you with, nor will I, to preserve at least a shred of my dignity, and something of what’s sacred between parent and child.”

 

“Dad,” Noctis protests, “Stop, you’re… being weird. You said there’s a book. Whatever, I’ll just – get that.”

 

“You could always ask Gladiolus about it,” says Regis, “There won’t be any permanent repercussions for the incident.”

 

Noctis grimaces. “Ask Gladio about some baby he’s having? No way.”

 

“Ah – I don’t think he will actually be fathering a child.”

 

“But you said – “

 

“Well, apart from the fact that the tabloid press enjoys making a mountain out of a molehill and fabricating details, the sole outcome of enjoying sexual intercourse isn’t a child. It’s – pleasure. Particularly as it’s not an act restricted to interactions between opposite sexes. Since it is biologically impossible for same sex partnerships to conceive, the purely pleasurable aspect of intercourse takes precedence.”

 

Noctis looks confounded, but as if he’s trying his best to conceal it. “Right… So. It’s nice? For anyone?”

 

“It is supposed to be, yes. Many ancient cultures that precede ours view the erotic and sexual nature as a blessed gift. They practiced a lot more hedonism than we do in our current age and day, but sex, and intercourse, should still be viewed as something you are given, not something you take.”

 

Noctis has put his chin in his palm. He nods slowly along with Regis’s monologue, for once not giving voice to his thoughts mid-sentence.

 

“So… It doesn’t sound weird…” he says, after a while.

 

“It’s not, as you say, ‘weird’,” replies Regis.

 

“Then why isn’t anyone talking about it?”

 

“Because it’s an intensely private matter, and you shouldn’t treat it with anything but the utmost discretion. It’s difficult to understand at such a young age. Your frustration is completely understandable. Just know that you will reach the point at which you will understand.”

 

“That’s cheap,” Noctis mutters.

 

“That, son, is life,” Regis replies. “Do you have any further questions regarding the matter?”

 

Noctis purses his lips. “S’ppose not… Gladio’s gonna be okay, though? And the – thing, is no thing? ‘S just a story?”

 

“Gladiolus is perfectly fine. He will hopefully have learned something from the endeavor, but regardless, he is none the worse for wear. As for the newsworthy bits of the incident – I’m sure you know by now to treat journalism with the respect it deserves. Particularly in sensitive matters such as one of this very nature,” Regis pauses, he catches Noctis’s gaze, “Noctis, promise me this: You must feel that you are able to come to me with any and all matters that call for delicate handling. You won’t be berated for it. No one will, nor should they be. As long as it is dealt with in timely and appropriate fashion, it won’t ever be an issue of consequence.”

 

Noctis nods slowly. He looks down. He thumbs the leather of the upholstery. “You’re always so busy. I get it, but – “

 

“No,” interrupts Regis. Six be good, this is precisely the turn of conversation he did not wish for, “You must never feel as though you cannot entrust things with me.”

 

Noctis doesn’t reply. Regis, suddenly at a loss, words failing, pushes out of his seat gently. He rounds his desk. Oak, untreated but for the duress of time. He steadies himself on it, crouches before Noctis despite numerous joints pulling in his knees and up in the small of his back.

 

“Son,” he says. He puts a hand on the cut of Noctis’s ankle.

 

Noctis reluctantly looks up once more. For a few moments he manages to hold his son’s gaze, without saying anything.

 

Alas – such moments remain as fleeting as they’ve always been. Noctis rolls his eyes, mumbles, “Yeah yeah,” and pushes at Regis with the ball of his foot. “I promise. Whatever.”

 

Regis smiles. “Good.” He masks the discomfort of getting up, going slowly as to disturb as few nerves as possible.

 

Noctis slides down from the chair as soon as Regis has settled behind the desk again.

 

“I will make sure to replay to Ignis that you are rather interested in further reading on the subject, then.”

 

Noctis freezes, half in step towards the door. “Uh,” he says, his voice somewhat muffled by the loss of proximity. “I guess I can just – ask Gladio.”

 

Regis makes a mental note to keep, to seek out Clarus at once at the conclusion of this conversation. If only to – prepare his old friend for what’s to come. “Yes, indeed you could. And should. To talk about it would – normalize the subject, I suppose. Which is good.”

 

“Yeah,” says Noctis quickly, “Sure. Okay, dad.”

 

“Remember, Noctis: the key to intimacy is trust, and consent.”

 

“Go back to being busy, dad,” Noctis says. He retreats the final handful of steps out into the corridor, leaving the door ajar as he goes, and Regis slumping gratefully into his chair.

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> so, this was... a ride. i had approximately five billion drafts started for this prompt, since it was one i never knew i was going to write, and it could've gone in approximately a hundred different directions. this is what happened.
> 
> i'm sort of sorry i did gladio dirty in here, lol, but i think it's very likely, given his character, that he might've had a rebellious phase in his life, and i like using the press as a plot tool. i live in a country in which they had not field days, but field years, with our only prince, who was pretty rebellious (for a royal child) at one point, so half of the imagined tabloid clippings are probably real pieces of writing from a couple of years back here. and also bc it kind of leaves it a little open ended for future gladnoct. i've never written it, and i'm not completely sure i'm able to grasp the characteristics of the ship deftly enough to try yet, but maybe at some point - then it'll be something that probably starts from this point.
> 
> anyway, so tl;dr. i'm not completely sure this classifies as the prompt itself, but for what it says on the tin, this is what i could produce. i hope it's somewhat to your liking!


End file.
